


The Ghost of You

by whats_her_face



Category: Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, and violence because uhh duh, diana barry has to put up with gilbert, ghost gilbert loves anne, im american and have NO idea how canadian healthcare works, murder!, please keep an open mind, some mild language because grief is a fickle thing, the ending is as happy as it could be considering the story, there is so much angst, this is kind of a sad story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:21:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26415592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whats_her_face/pseuds/whats_her_face
Summary: Dr. Gilbert Blythe had everything he could ever want in life. A beautiful girlfriend he was madly in love with, his own private practice in the city, and a best friend he trusted with his life.His life was perfect… until his best friend and business partner, Royal Gardner, had Gilbert murdered for discovering his involvement in an unethical business deal that gave Roy millions. Now trapped and wandering the streets as a powerless spirit, Gilbert must enlist the help of an amateur psychic named Diana Barry to set things right and keep the love of his life safe from Roy and his powerful partners.
Relationships: Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18





	1. The Perfect Life of Gilbert Blythe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's all just keep an open mind with this one, folks.

Gilbert Blythe was about to die. 

The thought was instinctually, a six sense in the back of mind sending alarm signals to warn him of his impending doom. His brain was conscious, still as wise and sharp as ever, but his body was sluggish, unresponsive to the commands his mind was sending to it. He groaned once, the sound a strained gargle of exhaustion to his own ears. His eyes fretted anxiously under his closed lids, and despite the protests that his body pleaded to him with, Gilbert pried them open to get a good look at what was responsible for his nearing death. 

The dryad was lying beside him, seemingly unaware of the torment she was putting him through, her body tossing and turning in the bed she shared with him. Her vivacious red hair glowed bright even in the darkness of the room, temporarily captivating Gilbert enough to qualm his misery for a moment before an acute pang of annoyance took over. She continued her fidgeting until his arm, feeling like lead, stretched out toward her to wrap around her and stop the movements. 

“Please, I’m begging you to stop moving.” He grumbled, the annoyance dissipating when she halted instantly. Gilbert, while not literally dying, had a strong inkling that any interruption in his very much needed sleep would do nothing less than end him immediately. 

_Aw_ , he thought sardonically, _the life of a doctor at its finest_. 

“Sorry,” she whispered, her warm breath fanning across the base of his neck. “My alarm is about to go off, I can feel it.” 

He mumbled something unintelligible even to himself, his eyes flickering shut while his hands worked at pulling her closer to him for a little while longer. This attempt turned out to be futile since a moment later her alarm _did_ go off, her body rolling away from his in order to turn it off. He cracked an eye open once more, trying to find the glowing hair again. He found it, the rest of her with it, sitting up on the edge of the bed with her phone in hand. 

“Come back,” he coaxed. “Just for five more minutes?” 

“Gil, I have to shower and--” 

“Anne,” he pleaded sweetly, rolling over to pull himself up onto his elbow. “Please?” 

Anne shifted toward him, a sliver of light coming through the window catching the essence of an amused look growing in her grey eyes. There was a smile on her freckled features that mirrored the one spreading on his own. The young couple found themselves in a staring contest, a silent competition growing as they battled lovingly over five more minutes in bed. To his utter glory, she blinked first. Anne rolled her eyes when he let out a joyous laugh, his back hitting the mattress so he could have a celebratory victory. 

“I let you win.” She declared, dropping her phone on the nightstand. She took her time getting back in bed, her movements slow and precise as she slipped under the blankets. When Gilbert tired of waiting for her antics to be over, he took the initiative by grabbing her lightly around the waist and pulling her closer to his body. He planted a kiss on her forehead, waiting until they were both comfortable before he spoke with a mischievous glint forming on his face. 

“Anne Shirley-Cuthbert let _me_ win? The world must be ending.” 

“Don’t get used to it.” She warned. “I only did it because I’ve missed you terribly these last few weeks. I feel like we barely saw each other!” 

He sobered quietly, subconsciously pulling her closer to him. Her words, while somewhat unfortunate, had truth to them. Seeing as Gilbert was a doctor and Anne was an English professor at the local university, it was no surprise that their schedules often clashed with one another. The last few weeks in particular had been more intense than usual for their respective careers. With finals week approaching, Anne had taken to leaving early to offer extra office hours and staying late to wrap up grading assignments before the spring semester finished up. For Gilbert, his schedule was so packed because, over the course of two weeks each year, he and some of his employees at _Blythe and Gardner, MD_ made their rounds around the lower income areas of Toronto to offer medical advice to those who would otherwise go without it. The hours were grueling and the work was hard, but he had a sense of pride knowing that they were assisting so many people. 

Gilbert had met Royal Gardner at the University of Toronto during their first year of medical school.The two had clicked instantly, bonding over their desire to start a practice that cared about helping people more than gaining profits. Roy’s drive to a career in medicine had stemmed from losing his sister to cancer young. Growing up with a sick father himself, Gilbert related to the young man, his own ambitions to become a doctor coming from a similar story. 

He could remember accompanying his father to almost every clinic and specialist that Prince Edward Island had to offer as a young kid all the way up to when he was well into his teenage years. When they had first started making these treks, he hadn’t understood why they were going, or the extent of his father’s illness. John Blythe, a man who would smile and crack a joke even at a ten on the pain scale, never wanted his son to worry about him. Gilbert understood later that his father wanted nothing more than to shield him from his illness and the medical jargon that pointed toward a bleak outcome. 

It was a sentiment he appreciated, but they both knew that Gilbert couldn’t be sheltered forever.

When his father went from bad to worse, he stepped up. Gilbert tended to the family orchard alone when moving around got difficult for his father. He drove them to his appointments in Alberta on a learners permit when he was too weak to drive himself. When they had no other option but to move to Alberta for his treatments, Gilbert tended to him day and night, putting all other responsibilities behind his father’s health. During this time, he could remember staying up late into the night praying, pleading with any God who would listen to make everything okay. All he wanted was okay, and in some ways, he got that. The care and dedication his father’s doctors had for him had helped lengthen his life in ways that they hadn’t imagined to be possible. The Blythe's were given more time together to read their favorite poetry, crack terrible jokes, and have tearful goodbyes before his father became too incoherent from his illness to tell him he loved him one last time. In the end, John Blythe had passed away in the tiny Alberta apartment with his only living child at his side. 

Gilbert had only been eighteen when he lost his father. Somewhat begrudgingly, he went back to Avonlea. There, he was met with an empty house and arrangements for a funeral. Standing in the cemetery, surrounded by too many headstones that had _Blythe_ written on them, Gilbert knew what he wanted to do with his life. 

“Did you fall asleep?” Anne asked, her hand ghosting forward to rest over his cheek. His hand fell over hers lightly, his thumb tracing circles in her hand. He turned his head ever so slightly to get a look at her. 

“Just thinking,” he replied, “and enjoying your company while we’re both awake.” 

“I do especially enjoy your company while you’re awake, dearest.” Anne whispered, eyes crinkling as her smile came back. “You’re not as fun when you’re _snoring_.” 

“I do not snore.” He denied, trying to keep his expression blank. Gilbert knew for a fact that he _did_ snore, having had it pointed out by every friend, girlfriend, and roommate that he’s had over the years. However, he could never resist bickering with Anne when the opportunity came up. She wrinkled her nose, and Gilbert’s facade almost broke right then and there. 

“You know you do, liar!” She exclaimed. “You’re worse than Matthew was when he had the flu.” 

Seeming to want to prove a point, Anne started to try to replicate the sound. Gilbert’s composure broke at once, her impression of a deep, throaty snore causing him to break out into laughter. She stopped at once, a satisfied smile flitting across her lips. 

“Maybe I snore a little.” He admitted after he calmed down. 

“If it’s any consolation, I happen to think that it’s cute.” 

He grinned down at her, dipping down to kiss her lips. 

“Let’s take tonight off.” He murmured after pulling back. “No grading. No emails. _No work_. Just you, me, Chinese takeout, and the documentary you’ve been trying to get me to watch for months now.” 

Anne shifted, taking her hand out from under his to prop herself up on his chest, her facial expression vibrant. 

“The one about the history of indigenous groups in PEI?” She asked, freckled face glowing. 

“The very same, darling.” Gilbert responded, his fingers brushing against her jawline before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I think we could use a night for us.” 

“I couldn’t agree more.” She nodded, her head falling down to lay against his chest. 

He hummed lightly, pure happiness flooding his veins before the realization that more than five minutes had to have passed long ago. Instead of selfishly stealing more time with his girlfriend, he pulled himself from the embrace despite the whines coming from next to him. He ignored them for the moment, focusing on hauling himself out of the bed, stretching his sore muscles half-heartedly. 

“What are you doing? You don’t need to get up yet.” Anne fretted, trying to reach out for him but whining again when he dodged her.

“I don’t, but you do need to get up, and I believe you mentioned something about a shower?” He asked, finally extending his hand out toward her. “Want some company?” 

Anne snuggled further under the sheets, pretending to decide whether or not to grab his hand. She didn’t keep the charade going long, always too impatient to, and finally stretched her own hand out to let him hoist her to her feet. He intertwined their fingers together, his back turned to her as he tried guiding them toward the little ensuite bathroom. He felt a tugging in his hand, a resistance created from her stopping in her tracks behind him. 

“Hey,” she whispered, tugging on his hand again. He twisted around to face her, his breath momentarily taken away when he caught sight of the apparent look of fondness on her freckled face. He tilted his head sideways, curiously watching her. 

“I love you.” She professed, squeezing his hand. Gilbert stepped forward, freeing his hand only so he could use both to softly cup her cheeks. 

“My Anne with an E,” he smiled, “I love you.” 

He leaned down, heartily kissing her lips. This woman standing in front of him, his Annest of Anne’s, was the fond object of his affection and desire. She, and she alone, was the keeper of the key to his heart. 

“Come on, we don’t want you to be late.” He murmured, grabbing her hand once more and pulling her toward the bathroom.

_____

As it turned out, Gilbert should’ve been more concerned with his own punctuality. 

“I’m here! I’m here!” He huffed breathlessly, jogging half-heartedly toward the front entrance of his practice, a few employees already standing by the door waiting to be let in. He stopped three feet behind them, hands reaching toward his briefcase to retrieve his keys. 

“Dr. B, we thought you died or something!” Moody Spurgeon-Macpherson, their chief nurse, exclaimed. “You’re _always_ fifteen minutes early.”

“I.. uh, had a late start this morning.” He explained, eyes cast downward at his bag, mentally cursing Anne for persuading him to get one that had so many _pockets_.

Defining his morning as a late start was a tad bit of an understatement. Despite the fact that he got up before his alarm, the impromptu shower with Anne had set Gilbert behind his regular morning routine. Then, if leaving the apartment late wasn’t enough, he had missed the subway. This unheard of phenomenon for him forced him to take a different route that put him off course from where he needed to be. The normal ten minute walk from his regular stop to the practice had turned into almost thirty. Gilbert continued to prod through the bag, his movements turning desperate after the third look between papers and forgotten gum wrappers. He glanced up miserably, a sheepish smile growing limply on his features. 

“I think I forgot my keys at home.”

“Oh, lovely.” Josie Pye, a snooty yet irreplaceable nurse, scoffed loudly. She leaned her back against the side of the building, her arms crossing over her pink scrubs. Ruby Gillis stepped out from behind Moody, her movements bouncy and enthusiastic. 

“That’s okay, Dr. Gilbert!” She beamed at him, waving her hand nonchalantly in the air. “Dr. Roy will be here any minute.”

Gilbert smiled at her, appreciative that the bubbling blonde receptionist had his back against the snide remarks the other blonde woman made. 

“Ruby Gillis,” Josie chided in, “always the optimist.”

“Josie, be nice.” Moody defended, stepping in to put a friendly hand on Ruby’s shoulder. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. When have _you_ seen Dr. Gardner show up on time?” 

“I’m only two minutes late.” A voice behind him pointed out. “Good morning, Josie.” 

Gilbert turned, unsurprised to see that the voice belonged to Royal Gardner. His best friend met his gaze, nodding at him with a raised dark eyebrow. “What’s going on out here?” 

He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could get a single word out, Moody was answering for him.

“Dr. B forgot his keys at home because he had a _late start_.” He explained, his voice turning suggestive at the end.

“Why did you say it like that?” He asked, whipping his head around to stare accusingly at the dark-haired man. Moody held up his hands in surrender, winking at Gilbert. He gaped back at him, his attention only broken when Roy moved past him with his own keys in hand. Gilbert closed his bag, following behind him. He unlocked the door with ease, and the small group began to file into the building behind Roy. Gilbert grabbed onto the door handle, holding it open for Josie to walk in first. 

“Your tie’s crooked.” Josie mentioned, a sarcastic laughter bubbling through her lips as she passed him in the doorway. He glanced down, his hand hastily reaching down to straighten his tie before he walked in behind her. 

He headed straight toward his office, leaving the rest of the employees to trickle into the practice and begin setting up for opening. He flicked the lightswitch next to the door, letting out a breath when he reached his desk and was able to throw his bag under the oak wood. He slumped into his chair with a groan, his body exhausted before the day had even begun. Gilbert rubbed his eyes, his hand moved down his face when he caught sight of the framed pictures on his desk. The first was of Anne and Gilbert from Christmas at Green Gable, her family home in Avonlea, a few years before. They had identical cheesy grins on their faces, his arm wrapped around her shoulder and hers wrapped around his torso. The second was a younger Gilbert at his medical school graduation, his surrogate brother Bash on one side and his wife, Mary, on the other. His eyes moved on, lingering on the spot where a third frame had once sat proudly, a piece shown off to patients when they came into his office. The picture, once holding the prospect of the future, now sat under old possessions in a desk drawer, hidden away. His hand reached out, his fingers clutching the knob of the bottom drawer that it was buried in.

For a split second, Gilbert considered opening it. 

He wouldn’t, not when the wounds still felt so _fresh_ and the lump in his throat still felt so _large_. His fingers loosened, moving a drawer up with a newfound prepared eagerness for the object hidden in it. This one had become home to a special heirloom for too long. He slid it open with ease, the velvet bag still sitting exactly where he left it. Gilbert pulled it out, his movements calculated, and tilted it so the contents fell into his hand. 

He always loved his mother’s engagement ring. He had lost her before he was given the chance to know her, but the single ring his father had given to her had made him feel connected to his mother since he was a small child. He examined it closely between two fingers, the circlet of pearls in the center making him smile. 

Anne, like his mother, never was a fan of diamonds. 

His attention on the ring was interrupted with a knock on the office door. He peered up, meeting Roy’s gaze while he slid into the room. His best friend walked toward his desk, collapsing into the chair across from Gilbert’s. Roy glanced at his hand, noticing the ring still grasped between his thumb and forefinger.

“Yes.” He joked, pointing at it. “My answer is yes.” 

Gilbert rolled his eyes, offering the ring for him to examine. The fellow doctor eyed it carefully, his expression unreadable. 

“I’m going to propose to Anne tonight.” He said definitively. Roy continued to stare at the ring, nodding slowly, lips turned down. 

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” 

Gilbert’s eyebrows cruised downward, taken aback by the question.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” He asked, an unintentional edge in his voice. Roy’s head snapped up, meeting his eye with a guilty expression on his face. He handed the ring back, lips parted. 

“Shit-- no, I didn’t mean it to come out like that.” He promised. “It’s just.. You two have had a rough time the last few years. I just wanted to make sure that you’re both ready for this.” 

Gilbert felt the lump return to his throat, his eyes falling to the bottom drawer before snapping back up again. He cleared his throat, rolling his thumb over the circlet of pearls. 

“Roy, we were just as ready then as we are now.” Gilbert explained, voice strained. “But, we just needed _time_ after--”

“I know.” Roy interrupted, saving him from having to say the words. He looked at him gratefully, taking a deep breath. 

“I want to marry her.” Gilbert said, taking a deep breath. “She’s the love of my life, Roy.” 

He smiled at Gilbert, though there was still an unrecognizable emotion in his eyes. Roy slapped his hand on the desk, a laugh bubbling out of his throat. 

“You’re proposing to Anne!” He remarked, standing up. “I’m happy for you... Both of you.” 

He stood as well, his arms raised when Roy moved across the desk to give him a hug before stepping back. Roy excused himself after that, leaving Gilbert to not only prepare for his first consultation of the day, but to begin daydreaming of the eventful evening ahead of him.

_____

“Don’t stay too late.” Roy advised in the late afternoon, knuckles tapping against the copier Gilbert stood in front of. 

“Are you out of here?” Gilbert questioned absentmindedly, his hands gathering his papers, his eyes peering up to look at him. Roy nodded, adjusting the strap of his bag as if to prove it. 

“Yeah,” he said casually, “as you should be.”

“I just have one last chart to wrap up and then I’m off to pick up Chinese at my and Anne’s favorite place.” Gilbert promised. Roy clapped him on the shoulder, smiling. 

“Good luck tonight.” He encouraged, passing by him. “I have no doubt in my mind that she’ll say yes.” 

“Thank you.” Gilbert said sincerely, already beginning his trek back to his office, papers in hand. He gave a quick look at his watch as he went, his mind mentally tracking how long it would take to finish and be on his way. He sat down, pondering. _If I hurry_ , he thought, _I can miss the dinner rush._ With that, he picked up his pen, which was really Anne’s pen, and started on the chart once more. Some time later, he found himself grumbling aloud in his empty office at the realization that one of the forms he needed was missing from the stack. 

“Moody,” Gilbert blamed, an automatic assumption in his brain after working with the forgetful nurse for so long. He sauntered back out to the hallway, his sight set on the filing cabinet at the end. His tired feet landed with a stomp, his childish pouting on show for the mostly empty office. He yanked harshly on the latch, knowing it was finicky, but nothing happened. His puzzlement and annoyance growing in tandem after recognizing that it must’ve already been locked for the evening. The proper closing protocol, which he was always reminding others of, was now properly laughing in his face. 

“Well, shit.” He whispered, the slight echo of his voice following his words in the emptiness of the hallway. He rested his forehead against the coolness of the cabinet, the gears in his mind grinding in concentration. He knew he had to get that form tonight, but he was also aware that his key was likely sitting on the stand near his front door. Only he, Moody, and Roy had a key to the filing cabinet, but with a lightbulb clicking in his head, Gilbert knew where he could find a key. Roy had told Gilbert, when they had first gotten the rickety filing cabinet, that he kept his key in his office in case of situations like his right now. So, with new energy, Gilbert raced toward Roy’s office, the door creaking while he sped in. He headed right toward the desk situated in the middle of the room, annoyed that he never had the forethought to ask where he kept the key.

“Alright, I’m Roy. Where do I keep my key?” He asked to the air, halfheartedly tossing papers around the desktop. He went for the drawers first, scoffing at the messiness of the contents inside. He almost gave up after coming across what seemed to be an old sandwich, but figured he might as well power through since he only had one left to go through anyway. The last drawer was situated right in the middle of the desk, narrow and no more than four inches high, Gilbert’s hopes were not high when he gripped the knob of it. He had to pry this one open, the wood warped from age causing a soft splintering sound to sputter out when the drawer finally gave and slid open. He took a moment to rejoice, his eyes wandering around trying to spot the key. His eyebrows furrowed, likely in the comical way that Anne teased him about, when he took in the drawer. 

This one was _different_ from the others. 

For one, it was meticulously clean. Where every other drawer was a combination of scattered papers and questionable food items, this one had it’s one and only file laid perfectly straight and center. The file itself, branded with the _Blythe and Gardner, MD_ logo, was thick and almost half an inch wide. There were bright, red letters on the front, spelling out the word ‘ _Confidential_ ’ in a font that definitely wasn’t the familiar chicken scratch Roy normally wrote in. In fact, Gilbert had never seen the elegant scroll of handwriting in his life. His interest piqued, fingers gingerly sliding toward the manilla file. It wasn’t his place to go snooping around, especially since he hardly wanted Roy going through his own stuff, but he still brought the file toward the desktop. 

_Just a peek_ , he reasoned.

His forefinger slid under the front cover, moving on its own accord. He flipped it open, the thick papers exposed themselves to his prying eyes. Gilbert’s brows slid upwards as he picked up the first document, his eyes trailing across the page so swiftly that he could only catch snippets of the text he read. 

“ _This Mutual Non-disclosure Agreement is entered into by and between Blythe and Gardner, MD ('Disclosing Party') and Andrews’ Pharmaceuticals Co ('Receiving Party')_ …” 

“... _The parties agree to enter into a confidential relationship with respect to the disclosure by one or each (the 'Disclosing Party') to the other (the 'Receiving Party') of certain proprietary and confidential information… The 'Disclosing Party' agrees to allow the 'Receiving Party' full access to any and all patient data for their own individual use of_ … “

“... _In exchange for otherwise inaccessible patient medical documents_ …”

“... _the payment of $3 million CAD to be compensated to the 'Disclosing Party' for every shipment of records to_ …”

“... _the information gained through access of this data can be used freely, fairly, and at the discretion of the 'Receiving_....”

“Signed, Royal Gardner.” He whispered, tracing over the reappearing signature on each page. Next to his was Billy Andrews’, a name that Gilbert had seen multiple times in the medical community. The newest CEO of Andrew’s Pharmaceuticals Corporations, Billy was known for his questionable ethical decisions in the world of medicine. He had more than his fair share of past lawsuits, from petty to federal, but most of the charges were either dropped or settled before they went to trial. He could vaguely recall hearing his name a few years back when some evidence had been leaked that his corporation had been caught raising the prices of drug prescriptions to turn a bigger profit. While he made money, millions of Canadians suffered and died from his actions. The charges, like the rest, had been dropped immediately and the story had been forgotten in the media. 

Gilbert blinked, his breathing uneven while his mind reeled in pursuit of trying to understand how Roy got mixed up in this mess. And, more importantly, how he had done it without Gilbert finding out. 

“What are you doing in my office?” 

Gilbert’s head snapped up, his eyes meeting Roy’s across the room. The doctor looked down at his desk, his mouth falling open when he caught sight of the open file that Gilbert still grasped. 

“I thought you left. I forgot my keys and I needed the..” He stopped, shaking his head. “What is all of this?” He gestured, the back of his hand slapping against the pages. 

“It’s nothing you need to worry about, Gilbert.” He claimed, stepping forward.

“Nothing I need to worry about?” He mimicked, scoffing. “Billy Andrews is not a good person to be around, and you went ahead and made an.. _illegal_ deal with him? Roy, this is... This is… bad-- You could go to jail for this.” 

“No,” Roy said, a sarcastic laugh escaping from him. “I’m not going to go to jail for anything.” 

“I can’t believe… Roy, listen to yourself. This isn’t you, okay? You can turn yourself in before this gets any worse than it already is. If you do then I won’t have to...” He stuttered, his heart racing as he processed his words. He blanched, registering what he was essentially warning him with. 

“You won’t have to do _what_ , Gilbert?” He questioned, his voice raising while his arms crossed across his chest. “Turn me in? I’m your best friend, man. You wouldn’t do that to me, you need me. This practice _needs_ me.” 

Gilbert stood, anger beginning to simmer within him. 

“You can’t just sell people’s medical records, Roy!” He shouted. “You don’t even care if you betray our patients trust. All you have to do is sit around and you’ll make money while Billy Andrew’s does God knows what with their information. It’s disgusting!” 

“I worked my ass off for this practice! I built it from the ground up.” Roy bellowed, his arms uncrossing, a finger jutting upward to point at himself. “Do you really think you’d even have a fucking practice right now without me? You owe everything to me, Gilbert!” 

“Let’s get one thing straight, Dr. Gardner.” Gilbert sneered, voice lower. He gathered the manilla file in his hands, gripping them fiercely. “I got to where I am today because of the _honest_ work that I put in, which is apparently something you can’t say for yourself.” 

He moved out from behind the desk, his movements precise. Roy opened his mouth, but he cut him off. 

“As your friend, I suggest you do the right thing and turn yourself in before you get yourself involved in something you can’t get out of.” He stated, his expression stoic. “As your business partner, I’m inclined to remind you that your careless actions have now put my career and the future of this practice in jeopardy. So, I highly advise you to turn yourself in, or I will take action in doing it for you.”

Gilbert shoved the manilla file against Roy’s chest, his strength hard enough to make him fall back a step. He didn’t look at him, his back turned to the man as he made his way to the door. 

“You’re going to regret this, Gilbert.” 

He scoffed, now outside Roy’s office, his head shaking as he declined to reply to the empty threat. 

Gilbert didn’t linger in his office when he returned to it. The chart he worked on was forgotten on his desk, his mind only coherent enough to shut it before he swept his briefcase up from the ground. He tossed his papers in passively, not once checking to see which were being shuffled in. Gilbert dipped into his drawer to grab the bag holding his mother’s ring. He hardly knew if the mood for the night could be salvaged after what had happened, but that didn’t stop him from tucking it into his pants pocket just in case. He left right after, his exit noted with the slam of the front entrance door. 

His rage felt palpable as he walked toward the subway, his body forced into auto-pilot to get him home safely while his brain swirled in a tirade of thoughts. He wasn’t sure how he managed to get off at his normal stop, but he was grateful nonetheless. He bounded down the way of the Chinese restaurant, his promise of a night off sounding less and less accomplishable the closer he got. 

He walked there briskly, making it to the hole-in-the-wall restaurant in good time but also recognizing that the darkness overtaking the sky meant that he was there later than he anticipated. A breath unlodged itself from his throat when he stepped through the threshold, the familiar smell of the food taking him back to nights spent huddled at a table with Anne for hours when she moved to Toronto to be closer to him while he completed medical school. He stepped into the takeout line, their orders memorized, and fought to keep his expression stoic as he waited his turn. Once he ordered, he stepped off to the side and pulled out his phone. What he wanted to do the most right now was talk to Anne, but as he hit her name at the top of his recents, the call rang several times before going to voicemail. After the beep, Gilbert took a breath and began to speak. 

“Hey, Anne. I forgot my keys this morning so I’m hoping you beat me home. I’m picking up the takeout now so I’ll be there soon, I promise.” Gilbert started, hesitating when he thought over his next words. “I know we said no work tonight, but something happened before I left. I need your opinion because I have no idea what to do, and you always have an answer. Anyway, we’ll talk when I get home. I love you.” 

The takeout came out soon after, and with an unintentionally terse thank you, Gilbert was exiting with a bag full of food in his hand. The restaurant was nestled in an alley, its direct neighbor being a little bagel shop. The shop had already closed for the evening, but the workers inside were hardly done with their shifts. At night, like clockwork, a truck would pull up outside the shop with flour for the next day’s bagels. It was a wonderment for Anne and Gilbert. 

Not the flour truck, but rather, what happened to the escaping flour when it was pumped into the shop. 

He stopped, taking a moment to watch as a billow of flour flowed around him, not a single speck of it seeming to land. He could recall fond memories of walking through it with Anne, listening to her talk about the 'fantastical' flour and how it reminded her of one of her favorite romantic comedies, _You’ve Got Mail_. They always stopped to watch the flour, sometimes to slow dance in the midst of it or to share a kiss simply because they could. He felt a weight lift off of him knowing that, even if he wasn’t sure what would happen with Roy, he would always have Anne and this spot with the never landing flour. 

“Excuse me?” 

Gilbert looked toward the male voice, only able to see their silhouette in the thickest area of flour. 

“Are you Dr. Gilbert Blythe?”

Another figure joined the first, and from their movements, he could tell they were walking toward him. 

“Yes?” He questioned, adjusting the bag of food as he took a tentative step toward them. "I'm sorry, do I know you?" 

They were closer now, and Gilbert could just begin to make out the features on their unfamiliar faces. 

“What can I do for you?” He asked, prompting. 

The first man stepped ahead of the other man, his features becoming completely visible to Gilbert. 

“You really shouldn’t have stuck your nose where it didn’t belong, Doctor.” He said, his hand reaching into his pocket. “Roy really did like you.”

“Wha--”

Gilbert didn’t have time to finish his sentence before the man had pulled a gun from his pocket, his keen senses hearing the two deafening shots ring in the air a moment before his mind registered the obvious; The bullets the man fired had hit _him_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so let's talk. 
> 
> For no rhyme or reason, this idea has been stuck with me for months. I really fought writing it because I'm still in the process of writing "Love, Anne" (go check it out if you haven't) and don't like starting new projects when I haven't finished the ones I've already started. Now, with that being said, I really want to write this. I've been inspired by so many different things (probably the most obvious being the movie "Ghost") and I just can't let this streak of wanting to write this just end because I already have a story started. So, I plan to somehow balance the two while also doing school full-time. That being said, I really hope you liked this chapter and want to stick around to see what happens! If you want to, leave a comment and tell me what you think! It makes my day when I get to read what you guys say! So, until next time, see ya later. 
> 
> P.S. I mentioned it in the tags but I am American and therefore some aspects might be a little iffy. You can let me know if I did/said something wrong and I'll do what I can to fix it. Healthcare is a wreck in America so we're going to just pretend (for the sake of this story) that it's not too hot in Canada as well. :)


	2. Haunted Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Blood, and Death. 
> 
> Please read at your own discretion.

“ _What happened to Mommy_?” 

_Gilbert found himself absent-mindedly picking at the chipped paint of the front steps when the question flew between his lips, his eyes hyper-focused on his task to avoid catching his father’s eye. It was hard, since he was sitting next to him on the stairs, but he found that he could still watch him from the corner of his eye without getting caught. His father shifted, his body a towering figure compared to Gilbert’s small frame as he turned toward his direction_.

“ _Why do you ask, bud?” He probed, clearing his throat. A cough escaped right after, the handkerchief in his hand flying up just in time to catch the fit overcoming him. He had to do that a lot, his dad; clear his throat and cough real hard, so hard he would lose his breath and have to sit down sometimes_. 

“ _My friends at school talk about their Mommies all the time, but I never can because I don’t have one.” He answered after the coughs quieted down, the nail of his thumb scraping a piece of the paint off with a satisfying crack and peel_. 

“ _Sure you have one, Gilbert." His father sputtered_. 

“ _Then, where is she?” He asked, head swiveling to meet his gaze imploringly. There was an odd look on his face, as though Gilbert had just asked him something upsetting. He hadn’t meant to make him sad. Gilbert reached forward fervently, taking his large hand into his own to comfort him the way his father always did for him. His father smiled, though even he knew that it didn’t quite look like the crinkly-eyed smiles he normally wore_. 

“ _Well…” His father hesitated, his other hand going over Gilbert's. “Your mother, she died when you were a baby. Have you heard that word before? Died_? Or heard about death in school, perhaps?”

 _Gilbert nodded slowly, his mouth flying open to share the knowledge he had_. 

“ _I heard Ms. Stacy say it to the other grade one teacher about Mr. Stacy. She said.. She said when he died she got real sad because she couldn't talk to him no more. Why can she not talk to him_?”

“ _When people die, Gilbert, their bodies stop.._ working. _They can’t do the things they had when they were alive-- like move, or hug… or talk. That's why your teacher said that. The life, their soul, is no longer in their body. So, after someone dies, we can’t interact with them the way we did when they were alive. Their body is still there, but the person they were inside isn't anymore. We honor them by having funerals to celebrate the lives they lived. They help us not only put their bodies to rest, but also give us a chance to say goodbye to them_.” 

“ _Did Mommy have a funeral?” Gilbert asked. His father nodded, tapping Gilbert's hand_. 

“ _A very beautiful one_.” 

“ _I don’t remember it.” He admitted, his brain straining to recall the occasion_. 

“ _You couldn’t, you were a brand new baby when it happened.” He supplied, grimacing. Gilbert nodded slowly, processing. “We’ll talk more about how and why it happened, but not until you’re a little older_.”

“ _Okay, Daddy.” He said, then perked up again. More questions began to conjure in his mind, his innocent curiosity propelling him to speak again. “Do we all die? Am I going to die? Are you_?” 

_His father’s lips grew into a line, and he swallowed hard_. 

“ _Dying is natural, son. It happens to all living things-- Flowers, animals, trees, butterflies, even. We’re all going to die one day, but neither one of us will for a very long time. Not until we’re both old and gray. You’ll be surrounded by all the people that love you most and-- Oh, well, you don't you worry about that now, okay? It isn't something you need to think about for a long, long time_.”

Gilbert’s vision wavered, his brain unwantedly ambushed by a memory conceived in childhood in the midst of the dark, dismal situation he presently faced. 

He staggered backwards breathlessly, unaware of his belongings falling off of his person, and barely recognized his own grunt of agony when his body met the hard ground. His hands palmed at his chest, his medical experience compelling him to identify the wounds first before trying to check the severity of them. They weren’t hard to locate, his palms sliding over the spots he knew with certainty had been struck by the man. His hand was shaking with an uncontrollable vigor when he lifted it from one of his bullet wounds out of pure, unadulterated curiosity. The pale skin was stained red, a trickle of blood running from his hand down the sleeve of his white button-up shirt. A labored breath forced from his lungs as his eyes watched the appendage wither in exhaustion before collapsing back toward his body. His gaze moved upward, his head unable to move, and found the gaze of the man who had shot him. His cold eyes glared into Gilbert’s, but as he began to speak, it was obvious that the words were for his accomplice and not for him. 

“Search him,” he commanded, “quickly.”

“What? Why? Man, we gotta fucking go before the cops get here.” The second man gaped, his feet bouncing back and forth nervously. 

“Royal gave specific instructions to take anything of value. So, get your fucking ass over there and search him.” He sneered, voice raising. “That’s an order, Dunlop.” 

He watched helplessly from the ground, his body uncontrollably spasming in rhythm with each breath compromised with the blood filling his lungs. The second man, Dunlop, fell to his knees at his side, his shaky gloved hands reaching out for him. 

“Please,” Gilbert gurgled, “help me.”

Dunlop paused, his hands frozen midair. His eyes were focused on Gilbert’s chest, his own breathing erratic while he continued to stare. Vaguely, he could hear the familiar sound of sirens in the distance, and a sense of hope bloomed in him. The man continued to stare, his Adam’s apple bobbing rapidly. Gilbert used what strength he had to bring his arm closest to Dunlop off his chest, pleading.

“ _Don’t_ make me ask you again.” The first man barked, taking Dunlop’s attention away from Gilbert. 

Dunlop shook his head, his eyes falling closed with a huffy, stuttered exhale of breath. When he seemingly calmed himself down, he turned toward Gilbert. His blue eyes found his hazel, and the sliver of hope he retained erupted instantly at the guilty expression hidden within them. 

“I’m sorry.” He apologized. “I’m so sorry.” 

His hands reached out with a new urgency, patting down Gilbert despite the grunts of pain springing out of him when he did. Dunlop pulled his wallet from one of his pockets, throwing it over his shoulder to the nameless man that had shot him. He worked his way down to his pants, a gloved hand tapping his front pocket before digging in it. He freed the object from the confines, and Gilbert’s half-lidded eyes could do nothing but watch the sight of the man holding the little black bag holding his mother’s ring. 

“No, please.” he begged weakly, hot tears reaching their breaking point and spilling from the corner of his eyes. "Take anything... but.. please... leave the ring." 

Dunlop drew out another breath, throwing the bag to the first man despite his feeble attempts to stop him. 

As the man continued his search, Gilbert’s pain began to drift away and turn into a dull numbness spreading over his broken and dying body.

_Dying_ , he thought comically, but, really, there was no humor behind the word.

Gilbert didn’t ponder his own mortality often, but even in the briefest of moments where he had, he surely had never envisioned it ending like this. With an alleyway, the remnants of flour in the air, and his scavenging assailants his only company in his final moments. 

Perhaps, foolishly, Gilbert had always thought he would die an uneventful death. Having had tragedy bestowed upon him throughout his young life made him unwilling to accept the idea of facing any similar, untimely demise like each member of his family had. He, as a religious man, couldn’t fathom the idea that his God would put him through that, too. He had taken so much from him already that he had hoped his prayers of a long, healthy life would be answered. Even Gilbert’s own father had instilled the idea of an inevitable, but peaceful, departure from this life. He imagined being wrinkly and old, his family surrounding him in a way that his father had been robbed of. His children, and grandchildren, would be at the foot of the bed. Their expressions would be somber, but their minds would be full of fond memories and their hearts would be filled to the brim with love. His Anne would be there, right beside him, telling old adventures the pair had embarked on that kept the room silent, all in awe at her natural storytelling abilities. She would hold his hand, smiling so sweetly that he would be compelled to only feel comfortable as he wistfully breathed through those last few moments. 

This would never be his fate.

Gilbert would never be able to grow to be wrinkly and old. There would be no children, or grandchildren, to stand beside his bed with their minds and hearts full of admiration and love for him. No old adventures would be told. No awe would be granted. Not even Anne would be there to see his end.

“Anne,” He croaked, but his voice felt foreign to his ears, a cracked and strangled version that he had never heard before. There was little solace found within saying the name now, but it still brought a wave of familiarity to him as he drifted. Her name would always be as familiar to him as his own. His Anne. He thought of her, envisioned her in living, breathing color as he took one final, raspy breath. 

_“It’s one silly appointment, Gilbert.” His father said, brushing him off with a flick of the newspaper between his hands. “I’ll reschedule for next week.”_

_“Dad, it took four months just to get this one. There is no rescheduling it.” Gilbert tried, his hands tugging roughly across his unruly, curly hair. It was longer now he realized, nearing his chin, and he wondered when the stream of doctors appointments and schoolwork had caused him to forget that he needed a proper haircut. Focusing on the present, he stood across from his father, studying the way he was slumped against the cushions of the couch and the way his hands never seemed to stop shaking when he turned to the next page of his newspaper. Watching his father meant that Gilbert wouldn't have to focus on the walls moving in on him, preparing their defense before they pounced out to suffocate him._

_“You can’t just blow this off like it’s nothing.” He tried again, berating himself when he heard the slightest of quivers in his voice. His father ruffled his newspaper, splaying it across his lap so he could look at him._

_“Listen, son, I appreciate the concern, I really do, but I don’t plan on missing your high school graduation for another meaningless doctor’s visit.” He explained._

_“'Meaningless?'” Gilbert questioned, growing peeved at his father’s sudden lack of care for his health. “You call their constant care and attentiveness to your health 'meaningless?'”_

_“Gilbert, you know what I mean.”_

_“Do I?” He asked bitterly, staring his father down. It had been a long and twisted road, his father’s journey. Gilbert had been there, for better and for worse, but he had seen the signs of despair growing in him for a while. The way his father had begun to withdraw during appointments, how he had stopped asking questions, and began needing Gilbert to become the one insisting he take his medication._

_His father sat up straighter, his thinning eyebrows sliding down his face to match his son’s anger._

_“What do you want me to say, huh?” His father asked. “That, at this point, all my appointments are meaningless? That going to this one will only result in having yet another doctor tell me that there’s nothing else they can--”_

_Gilbert had seen the signs. The withdrawal. The lack of motivation. The reluctance that followed every one of his fathers moves. He had lost his will to fight._

_To his credit, though, his father had the audacity to seem ashamed of his outburst as he cut himself off when he realized he had said too much. He wiped a hand down his slim face, his eyes hardening as he turned his attention to the ceiling._

_“I’m sorry.” His father whispered, his voice somehow magnified in the quiet space. "I am so sorry, son."_

_Gilbert moved without thinking about it, his body taking him toward the lumpy couch to sink down into the seat next to him. He rested his elbows on his knees, fitfully staring at the room around to keep his composure. The one bedroom apartment in Alberta was cramped, the ever-increasing collection of medical equipment ensuring there would never be spare space to offer, but he never minded it. It would never be their true home, but where Avonlea couldn’t provide more than a simple country doctor, Alberta had the care and specialists that knew his father’s history inside and out. That had made it all worth it for them until, apparently, now._

_“Dr. Ward said your last blood test was promising--” Gilbert insisted after many beats of silence, his desperation leaking into his words without apology._

_“Son--”_

_“--you, yourself, said that you were getting stronger--”_

_“Please just let me--”_

_“--and your treatment--”_

“Hurts.” _His father piped in again, a fierce seriousness bubbling through his voice, making Gilbert close his mouth at once. “My treatment hurts, Gilbert. It’s not making me stronger. If we're being honest, it's doing quite the opposite, really.”_

_“But you said..” He whispered quietly, face still turned out toward the room, unable to look in his father’s direction. His heart was beating fast, so fast that he could hear it drumming in his ears. He never spoke this candidly to Gilbert, his words always optimistic and his attitude always positive._

_“I know.” His father murmured. “Look at me, son.”_

_“No.” He mumbled, shaking his head fiercely to hide the fact that he was beginning to break._

_"Please, son, look at me." He pleaded, but Gilbert shook his head more fiercely._

_"I won't."_

_“I’ll talk, then. You just listen.” His father relented, though his words were muffled as he began to cough. Just as he was about to turn to check on him, the fit had already ended and his father had begun to speak again._

_“I’m not getting better, and I think you know that. I have for a long time, longer than I’m willing to admit.” He paused, and Gilbert wiped a rogue tear with the back of his hand. “I’m so tired, son. Of hospital visits. My treatment. Everything has become exhausting. I can live with exhausting most days, but not this one. On this one, I choose to celebrate my son and his accomplishments. Please, Gilbert, don’t take that away from me.”_

_Hesitantly, Gilbert turned to look at his father. Not to his surprise, he was already looking at him with tears slowly cascading down his cheeks and a crinkly-eyed smile growing across his features. Gilbert’s own tears were falling, trying to absorb the meaning behind his words._

_“You’re sure?” He asked, staring directly into the very eyes he had inherited. “We can always celebrate later. I don’t have to do the cliché ‘walk across the stage’ deal to solidify the fact that I finished high school.”_

_His smile only widened, but even Gilbert could see the small wisps of sadness glowing back at him within his features. His father reached a trembling hand forward, tentatively wiping Gilbert’s tears away before he clapped him on the shoulder._

_“My son, you are my greatest accomplishment.” He revealed, tapping him. “You have been looking out for me since you were a little boy. It’s time to let go for a moment to let me celebrate you.”_

_Somewhere deep inside, Gilbert still wanted to argue this, but one look into his father’s eyes stopped him short. Maybe it was the fact that he knew it meant so much to his father to have a normal day after having so few since packing up their life to move to Alberta. Or, maybe, it was because Gilbert now knew the secret that his father had been skating around for awhile. Their time together was limited, and there wasn't likely going to be many more jovial occasions for him and his father to spend together._

_“Okay, Dad.” He replied, and mustered up a smile to give back to him._

The memory fell away abruptly, restoring Gilbert’s senses to him as it fell back into the abyss of his mind where it had originated. His brain felt fuzzy, electrocuted with confusion and scattered with questions about where he was and what had happened to him. His body moved into a sitting position on its own accord, his muscles aching with a sense of numbness that spread across his whole being. His legs stretched out before him, hands falling flat over the tops of his thighs while he took in his surroundings unsteadily. He was in an alleyway, but he hadn’t a single memory of how he got there. Through the dissipating white fog in front of him were vibrant red and blue police lights that were accompanied by blaring sirens which engulfed his senses completely. Glaring, illuminating strobes of light started toward him, the flashlights blinding his vision as they all focused on him. One of his hands lifted to shield his eyes while the other assisted in pushing himself to his feet. He bowed his head nervously, raising his hands in surrender before he pushed himself forward to take slow, decisive steps in the direction of the flashlights. 

“Help.. I don’t know what happened, but…” Gilbert started, his voice silky and smooth despite how panicked he felt in this strange, current predicament he was in. The first officer approaching, who Gilbert had his sights set on when he began speaking, continued by him without a single look in his direction. He turned his attention to two more officers that followed the first, his plea for help gaining the same luck as before. 

“Please, Miss, can you tell me… Was there an accident?” He asked desperately, but the words were still coming out silky and calm. It was unnerving, and as a passing paramedic went by, he instinctively reached out toward her to grab onto her arm to stop her. His fingers began to loosely encircle her forearm, but Gilbert watching in utter disbelief as his hand passed through the flesh of her as though his appendage was made out of air. He stumbled backwards, horror striking him square in the chest as he watched the woman hurriedly move along without even a slight flinch of acknowledgement. Gilbert felt crazy, his mind in a sudden frenzy to run through all the logical theories that didn’t involve his hand being able to move through a solid object. _It must have been a trick of the eye,_ he decided, his hand curling over the other as he brought them to his chest. _An optical illusion created by the lights in the darkness._

“Alright, you all know the drill. I want this whole area cordoned off, no unauthorized personnel in or out, and someone better call in homicide.” 

Gilbert’s eyebrows pulled downward, his breathing silently buzzing through his ears while his puzzlement grew. _Call in homicide? Why?_ His face twisted toward the way he had come from to attempt to place a face to the unfamiliar male voice speaking. He took a few steps forward, discovering it must belong to the first police office that he had encountered. The man’s stance was powerful, albeit slightly rigid, standing in the front of a small semi-circle of people that had passed by him. There seemed to be six of them crowded around each other, their uniforms varying between police officers and paramedics. He hadn’t seen the other two come over, but he reasoned that they must have slipped past him after his encounter with the woman paramedic. He crept forward, his hands still nestled to his chest when he approached the group beginning to break away. 

Once again, the figures moved past him without a single look, but his attention was elsewhere. His eyes were focused on the unmoving body of the first police officer, his own gaze turned to the ground. Without looking up, the greying man began speaking softly below his breath before he proceeded to do the sign of the cross across his chest. Gilbert watched the man, bewitched by the sorrowful look forming across his wrinkling face. He tore his eyes away from him, his own eyes greedily peering down to get a glimpse of whatever had elicited such a reaction from him. 

He wished he hadn’t.

“Oh my God.” He whispered, breathlessly perfect, but the pitch of his voice was unmatching to the emotions coursing through his veins. His eyes were trained, hyper-focused, on the figure laying battered and lifeless at his feet. The body was bloody, so bloody, but Gilbert knew without a shadow of a doubt what, or rather who, he was looking at. 

Himself.

Bloody, damaged; _dead._

His mouth opened, but no words came. Instead, an angelic scream fell from his lips, shattering the silence in the air. It was screeching, beautiful, and Gilbert couldn’t imagine how the sound had come from him. He turned away from his body, disgusted and terrified all at once, and fled toward the blue and red lights. They seemed brighter now, more saturated, and he couldn’t seem to see straight. The colors began to blur together, voices of people ringing in and out of his ears, but he continued on. When everything in his vision began to spin together, Gilbert fell to the ground near one of the ambulances in a heap. His vision faded to black quietly, but his hearing fought to stay coherent, picking up on the radio feed going off inside the cab of the ambulance before it, too, succumbed to nothingness.


End file.
